


Downtime

by Bodldops



Category: Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: making bad medical decisions, the hoth story, the mechanics are going to put training wheels on Hobbie's X-wing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 23:05:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13041381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bodldops/pseuds/Bodldops
Summary: Slice-of-life for the boys - really just a bit of fluff as they recover from another round of doing the impossible.





	Downtime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [virusq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/virusq/gifts).



Screaming erupted from the briefing room. 

Hobbie, on medical leave but without anything to do to keep him from hanging around to see what sort of ridiculousness the newbies would get up to, raised an eyebrow. It was supposed to just be the briefing for the newbies’ first training run with actual, real, crashable ships. The crashable wasn’t even highly likely – the course was littered with tractor beams and repulsor fields. Despite that, everyone knew there was going to be at least one wreck. After all, there’s nothing like a recruit hot to impress the boss for causing spectacular crashes.

The second eyebrow joined the first when Wes wandered out, looking entirely too pleased with himself and life in general. It was an ominous look – good things never happened when Wes looked that happy. Of course, he hadn’t heard any blaster shots, so Wes can’t have burned down any of the newbies already. 

“Is Wedge telling the Hoth story again?” Hobbie asked, coming to the logical conclusion. Wedge’s version of their escape from Hoth, years ago now, got longer and more convoluted the more times he told it, but one thing remained the same: In the story, Wes Janson died.

If anyone thought their boss was too straight-laced, the glee that was present on his face every time Wes scared the living shavit out of a new pack of pilots was proof against such a notion. And people call _them_ the troublemakers.

“Yeah, I think he involved dismemberment this time. One of the newbies… that twi’lek girl, she kept muttering something about the difficulty of finding all the parts. I’ll have to get him to tell it to me later.” The only person who loved the Hoth story more than Wedge was, of course, Wes Janson. “This training run is going to be such a disaster.”

Wes beamed.

“Let’s go find a good place to watch.”

On the way up to one of the viewing platforms, they argued amiably about the odds of anyone making it through the course with their nerves now properly rattled, and who would crash first. Wes had his money on the son of a minor nobleman from a planet neither of them had even heard of before last week. Hobbie thought this was too obvious – no one could have made it far enough to be considered for Rogue Squadron if they didn’t have some serious piloting skills to back up being such a blowhard. He was more willing to bet the transfer from Blue squadron would flame out first. That poor man would be used to a much less unorthodox leadership team. 

By the time they reached the platform, Hobbie was more than ready to lounge again. Honestly, he shouldn’t be up in the first place, and if the medics heard he was walking so much he was liable to be sedated without prior warning. He wouldn’t put it past them to use blasters. The furball that lost them three good pilots and necessitated picking up new trainees also wrecked his X-wing, currently in about as good condition as he was and being patched together by their ground crew.  
The same ground crew he was currently studiously avoiding, since he’s pretty sure they aren’t pleased with him hurting one of their precious ships. Never mind that he was _in_ said ship at the time, and would have preferred it hadn’t nearly come to pieces around him. Gingerly he settled on one of the benches, stretching his casted leg along the metal length and wishing he could have something stronger than juice during recovery. As if summoned by wish, Wes suddenly dangled a flask in front of his face.

“Pick me up?” Wes asked cheerfully, and Hobbie did him the favor of ignoring the strain in his voice. He remembered Wes’ shouting coming through the comms as his cockpit filled with smoke, and he knew there had to be some reason that Wes was currently banned from the medical wing.

“You are a good man. Goodish man. Fair, on the whole.” Hobbie replied as he took the flask. He didn’t even care that the contents were the local version of lum, and not something better quality. He grunted at Wes shoving his shoulder in retaliation, then leaned against Wes when his friend finally sat down, taking in the training course spread out below them.

The silence stretched on between them. Hobbie took his drink, then handed the flask back over. He could hear the gurgle of alcohol as Wes took a shot as well, heard the rasp of the flask being screwed closed again. 

“Do you ever think we’re getting too old for this?” Wes asked, sounding uncharacteristically subdued. Hobbie tried to crane his neck around to look at Wes, then gave it up as a bad job when his back protested the move violently. 

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of retiring, I still haven’t had time to get you back for… well. Most of the pranks you’ve pulled on me.” Hobbie groused, but Wes wasn’t exactly wrong. They’d so far survived their expected life span as fighter pilots that the newbies could be forgiven in thinking they were immortal.

“Pffft, if I wait for that I’ll never get a chance to retire.” For a moment Wes’ voice held its usual levity before sinking under the weight of unaccustomed introspection. “Hobbie… that was way too kriffing close.” 

Wes didn’t have to tell him that. Or even fully elaborate on what he’s talking about. Hobbie was entirely sure he’d finally run out of luck in that last fight. His surprise on waking up mostly in one piece and _not_ dead was… immense, to say the least. He’s not sure what to say, though. Acknowledging it seemed wrong, somehow. They never have before, though they’d both nearly been up on the memorial wall more than once.

The rumble of engines firing up from the hanger saved him from having to answer, the noise bone-shakingly loud from here. It turned out, neither of them were right – the weedy Shistavanen managed to crash his ship into the edge of the hanger on lift-off. 

Wes and Hobbie took turns drinking to the Death Star-sized headache Wedge was sure to have by now, and it turned out to be a very enjoyable afternoon.


End file.
